Bounce - NOW!

It’s a bit of a bummer when you go to all the trouble of timing the conception of your second born to ensure a summer production and then it goes and rains.

That’s what happens though when you live in this dismal land, where the sky is the colour of your favourite pair of old white knickers, turned mouldy from too many years of wear and washing.

Poor old Sarah, mummy to Titch and Annabelle, had hired a bouncy castle and even made sandwiches in the shapes of choo choo trains and stars for Titch’s first ever party. Then there was the bbq, the 500 cocktail sausages (all of which were eaten and all by the same child) and 30 guests, all squished into the playroom trying to pretend they couldn’t hear their hostesses repeated pleas for them to go outside and “bounce, damn it”!

At the first glimmer of sunshine, the castle was plugged in and inflated faster than my tummy after a curry. All children were thrown inside and not permitted to leave despite the supplier’s warning that bouncy castles, children, electricity and torrential rain don’t mix. Sarah had paid £60, she’d take her chances.

And bounce they did, albeit in wellies, their soggy little bottoms testament to the fact they were all true Brits.